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Life Is like flying a kite, you hold on but you cannot control.

4/28/2015

I arrived back from England last night, after two long flights and a rush through customs in JFK.

It is always gratifying when I get a “welcome home” from the immigration officers, who sit looking very stern and dispassionate while they scan your passport for whatever they scan passports for… It is a strange feeling when you have your feet in two countries, with families in both lands.

“I am sure that if the mothers of various nations could meet, there would be no more wars.”

E. M. Forster

I always feel a bit jet-lagged the first day, and have a couple of days to turn around before going back to work. But my blog is a big priority, and I have been thinking about you, my readers. In truth, despite advances in technology, it was quite an effort and adventure posting my last blog entry while I was away. The friends where I lay my head the first night live so high up in the hills of Yorkshire, that the internet is very patchy, and when I finally got to my parent’s house in Cornwall, things were so hectic with family and friends, it took several attempts before I could find the time or a connection on a laptop that worked.

So, due to personal events and commitments, I am out of sync, and apologize.

Being in the moment was important to me. I had come to England to see my parents, and had originally planned to meet them at my sister's in the North east of England for a mini vacation. Unfortunately, my Mum was not well enough to travel, and so we all changed plans and went to Cornwall instead.

Not only did I have the blessing of being with my parents, and being able to assist them, I had the joy of seeing family, including 3 Great nieces, and two of my oldest girlfriends. The week was busy and hectic, and there was little time for me to post my blog. In addition, I was having frustrating technical problems. Every time I went to post, something happened, and I was unable. As important as my blog is to me, I realized that I had to put it on the back burner, and attend to my family commitments which included taking care of my parents, and some Zen of being a Great Auntie.

It has been my observation, that we have become a very narcissistic society, putting our own needs before others, and using technology to fulfill our own narcissism. You only have to look at Facebook to see how many people post numerous selfies and the most unimportant self -centered things to realize we have become dependent on others' appreciation of everything we do, from a one word exclamation to get people guessing, or to giving negative feedback to people they don’t even know. Even my need to post blog was somewhat driven by, “Will I lose my followers if I don’t post?”

So taking a good look at what is really important, being flexible, and being able to change direction at any given time was one of the challenges for the week. In truth, it mirrors the challenges that life constantly brings, no matter what the magnitude of a given problem.

I thought about people who face far greater everyday challenges than me. I watched my Mother determined to overcome her disabilities, and to make the most of the week, and enjoy her great Grandchildren. I visited with my oldest friend, whose daughter is fighting cancer, yet despite her own situation, was as welcoming and as wonderful as a friend can be, going out of her way to cook, be of assistance, and extend her hand of friendship in any way she could. On the first and last night, I stayed with another dear friend whose
sister recently died, and received the most loving hospitality tailored to my individual needs. I thought of my boss, whose husband is recovering from a heart attack, yet who still provided work coverage, so that I could go to England. The realization that everyone is struggling with their own challenges, adjusting their sails, is something we should always remember. When we are rebuffed in a store by a grumpy old man, or accidentally cut off in traffic by someone not paying attention, we should give them the benefit of the doubt. Each person is persevering with their own path despite obstacles, and we should remind ourselves that we are not the only ones out there with worries.

These sentiments stimulated the subject of today’s blog; Perseverance, and awareness of others' needs.

These attributes are reflected in a poem called Desiderata,

by Max Ehrmann Copyright 1952.

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

RUDYARD KIPLING wrote a famous poem called IF, in which he gives life advice; good in 2015, even though it was written in 1943

If you can keep your head when all about you

    are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

    But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;

    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

    And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

    And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

    To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

    If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Last, but not least I give you this wonderful poem written by Phil Lindsey, (ref Poetry.com), called KITE.

In it he uses the analogy of Kite flying to describe life.

I have attempted to illustrate this with my art work at the end of this blog

Dad made a kite

Out of paper and wood

And a white, ripped up sheet for a tail.

We all watched with wonder when without any wind

He could make his kite rise up and sail!

The trick, he would tell us

Is to run just a bit, then let the string play out just so.

There is wind up above us that you cannot see

It will make the kite rise up and go.

Up went his kite

High up over the trees

And soon it was up with clouds.

It dipped, skipped and twirled as he tightened his rein

“It’s DANCING!” we shouted out loud!

The kite, he would tell us

Responds to your touch, don’t hold it too loose or too tight.

Be forgiving, yet firm, let it fly by itself

And most times it will turn out all right.

Dad gave the kite

To the youngest child there,

And the rest of us waited our turn.

The kite soared, then collapsed; our confidence too

Dad taught; we attempted to learn.

Life, he would tell us

Is like flying a kite, you hold on but you cannot control.

Don’t let a failure or lack of success

Stop you from reaching your goal.

Keep flying your Kite
Have a great week.
Womensvoice1

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Better Late than never!#Rule Britannia!

4/20/2015

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This next week, I am going to be in England visiting my parents and family

I am constantly reminded of the importance of family and the value of seeing my nephews and nieces grow into little people. I miss my family and friends, and cherish the time I will spend with them. I am so lucky to still have my Mother, and Father, and celebrate that privilege daily

I am currently at the airport, and was sitting quietly , minding my own business, and starting to write this blog, when all at once I was completely surrounded by a loud throng of lively teenagers joking and laughing, and carrying on , and jostling for a place to sit. I almost lost my seat a couple of times when I stood up to retrieve my phone charging in the wall. They are getting ready to get on the the same plane, and I hope to God I'm not sitting in the middle of them on the flight!

But they are making me laugh! There are one or two boys who are born comedians, and they are making the whole waiting area light up with laughter. They are from Manchester, and the Northern accent is an added bonus!　

These kids have been visiting New York They have obviously had a wonderful time, and are excited to be going home. They are laden with backpacks of souvenirs and excitedly recounting their experiences over the last week. One young lad helped me with accessing the Wifi, and proceeded to tell me that he had decided he is coming back in two years to finish his engineering degree in New York.

I move to accommodate their crowding and sat next to an older lady, ( like me, ) who appears relatively sane. ( I do have a habit of sitting next to the craziest person on the bus or the plane...

She proceeded to tell me all about her travels to Cleveland Ohio, and what a wonderful time she had had, visiting her elderly Aunt and cousins. She showed me pictures of their homes and the children, and clearly was enamored by the family she had not seen in 18 years!

She enthused about the wonderful time she had meeting the locals of the town, and remarked as to how friendly and welcoming " the Americans" were. Her impression was all favorable.

Our flight was delayed, so we sat and talked over a beer and dinner, and exchanged opinions and information about cultural differences , the health system in the US and a bit of politics.

Our Flight attendant turned out to be French, and he has been happily sharing stories of Paris with the high school kids , and translating for a shrouded French Muslim lady needing assistance.

Despite the flight delay, people were courteous and forgiving.

All in all, it reinforces my theory that travel is the best medicine and the best education for everyone. 　It enables people to connect in a way that is unbiased by preconceived ideas, and dogmatic beliefs. It forces people to sit next to each other, and to at least be respectful, even if you don't speak a word.

Travel brings people together under many circumstances, not just leisure and sightseeing. A story I heard yesterday, reminded me of one circumstance that forces people to travel under duress. The death of loved one , or in some cases, the tragic death of several members of a family , killed in a plane crash, or an act of terrorism. Then travel becomes a pilgrimage of both duty and respect , not for sightseeing, but to make arrangements, say goodbyes, and to bring closure to a chapter in life itself.

It is at times like this, that people are vulnerable, no matter what their culture or their creed. They are in a state of grief, shell shocked; often strangers in a strange land.

It is then that sometimes, the most wonderful things can be born from the most tragic circumstances. When humans connect, recognize that need, that desperation, that unspoken vulnerability, then true spirituality can shine. The act of selfless hospitality, even in the hotel or hostel environment, can change lives. The simple act of providing food and a place to rest, with a friendly smile and a willingness to connect, can regenerate the flame of the human connection, breaking down the barriers of culture and tradition, allowing humans to see into the soul of another without prejudice or judgement. This can light the soul of both the visitor and the host , bringing about true communion

It opens a new door, yet another permutation to the endless possibility of hope.

Opportunities like this are a gift from something greater than our individual selves. And they can come at very unexpected times.

The particular story I heard was told from the perspective of a young man who had been on the giving side of hospitality, and yet what he received in return , was a greater gift to his heart than any material wealth could buy.

Another reinforcement in my mind, of how valuable travel is to even those who do not set foot outside their own town.

So today, gentle reader, I bring to you a few selected poems that reflect travel, or the dream of such, as a reflection of the sentiment of today's blog

And I apologize for my tardiness, but I was traveling! :)

　

　
A Sailor's Song

by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Oh for the breath of the briny deep,

And the tug of the bellying sail,

With the sea-gull's cry across the sky

And a passing boatman's hail.

For, be she fierce or be she gay,

The sea is a famous friend alway.

Ho! for the plains where the dolphins play,

And the bend of the mast and spars,

And a fight at night with the wild sea-sprite

When the foam has drowned the stars.

And, pray, what joy can the landsman feel

Like the rise and fall of a sliding keel?

Fair is the mead; the lawn is fair

And the birds sing sweet on the lea;

But the echo soft of a song aloft

Is the strain that pleases me;

And swish of rope and ring of chain

Are music to men who sail the main.

Then, if you love me, let me sail

While a vessel dares the deep;

For the ship 's my wife, and the breath of life

Are the raging gales that sweep;

And when I 'm done with calm and blast,

A slide o'er the side, and rest at last.

　

　The next is by Rudyard Kipling, who, remembering his time in China, as a soldier, yearns to return some day to "The road to Mandalay "

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea,

There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;

For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:

"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"

Come you back to Mandalay,

Where the old Flotilla lay:

Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?

On the road to Mandalay,

Where the flyin'-fishes play,

An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!

'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,

An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat -- jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,

An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,

An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:

Bloomin' idol made o'mud --

Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd --

Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!

On the road to Mandalay . . .

When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,

She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla-lo-lo!"

With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin' my cheek

We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.

Elephints a-pilin' teak

In the sludgy, squdgy creek,

Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!

On the road to Mandalay . . .

But that's all shove be'ind me -- long ago an' fur away,

An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay;

An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:

"If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else."

No! you won't 'eed nothin' else

But them spicy garlic smells,

An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells;

On the road to Mandalay . . .

I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,

An' the blasted English drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;

Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,

An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?

Beefy face an' grubby 'and --

Law! wot do they understand?

I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!

On the road to Mandalay . . .

Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,

Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;

For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be --

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;

On the road to Mandalay,

Where the old Flotilla lay,

With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!

On the road to Mandalay,

Where the flyin'-fishes play,

An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!

Rudyard Kipling

　

Henry Van Dyke has been in Europe long enough, and longs for the shores of America again;　

　

'TIS fine to see the Old World and travel up and down

Among the famous palaces and cities of renown,

To admire the crumblyh castles and the statues and kings

But now I think I've had enough of antiquated things.

So it's home again, and home again, America for me!

My heart is turning home again and there I long to be,

In the land of youth and freedom, beyond the ocean bars,

Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air;

And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair;

And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome;

But when it comes to living there is no place like home.

I like the German fir-woods in green battalions drilled;

I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing fountains filled;

But, oh, to take your had, my dear, and ramble for a day

In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her sway!

I know that Europe's wonderful, yet something seems to lack!

The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back.

But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free--

We love our land for what she is and what she is to be.

Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me!

I want a ship that's westward bound to plough the rolling sea,

To the blessed Land of Room Enough, beyond the ocean bars,

Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

Henry Van Dyke

　

Dreaming of a peaceful place , one cannot ignore　The Lake Isle of Innisfree

By WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

　

Lastly, I was amused to find a poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

who openly mocks the well seasoned traveller because she has grown weary of monopolizing tales at the dinner table. It reminded me that despite enthusiasm for travel, endless slideshows of vacations can be boring to others!

Ella Wheeler Wilcox has written a tongue in cheek lament , that her "soup seems brewed from cemetery bones, " as she listens politely while dining with travelled people.

　

　

The Traveled Man

SOMETIMES I wish the railroads all were torn out,

The ships all sunk among the coral strands.

I am so very weary, yea, so worn out,

With tales of those who visit foreign lands.

When asked to dine, to meet these traveled people,

My soup seems brewed from cemetery bones.

The fish grows cold on some cathedral steeple,

I miss two courses while I stare at thrones.

I'm forced to leave my salad quite untasted,

Some musty, moldy temple to explore.

The ices, fruit and coffee all are wasted

While into realms of ancient art I soar.

I'd rather take my chance of life and reason,

If in a den of roaring lions hurled

Than for a single year, ay, for one season,

To dwell with folks who'd traveled round the world.

So patronizing are they, so oppressive,

With pity for the ones who stay at home,

So mighty is their knowledge, so aggressive,

I ofttimes wish they had not ceased to roam.

They loathe the new, they quite detest the present;

They revel in a pre-Columbian morn;

Just dare to say America is pleasant,

And die beneath the glances of their scorn.

They are increasing at a rate alarming,

Go where I will, the traveled man is there.

And now I think that Rustic wholly charming

Who has not strayed beyond his meadows fair.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

This blog was begun in the US, and has been completed "across the pond"! I am tired, hot and weary, having had no sleep, and very little room to move for the last 8 hours. Airline seats seem to shrunk in size, with no leg room, and the food trolly seems to deliberately target my funny bone every time it passes.

This has probably been one of the most uncomfortable flights I have been on. I have practiced restraint and tolerance, and had to adjust my attitude a number of times.

But I am still excited!

Anticipating a reunion with family and friends, I am going to save this file, and hope I can find an internet connection this weekend to post this entry. Can't wait for a decent cup of tea, and a piece of Saffron cake!

Have a wonderful week, and hellooooo to my English readers!

　

ps
It has taken me four days to find a computer and a good connection to post this. Next week I will post on Tuesday after I return......

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#For the times they are a-change'in

4/11/2015

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Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

The Road not Taken Robert Frost

Change, is the key of my blog today.

Like spring, a time for change;

in the air, in the soil, in our hearts and our souls.

we make time to re-arrange.

I wax poetic this fine day

To bring my thoughts to you,

With fine examples from the poets

Chosen impromptu

Excerpts from Robert Frost reflect

The sentiment of choice

To take the road less traveled where

Perhaps you’ll find your voice

A voice that rises up to sing

Of positive reflection

Like Michael Jackson’s Mirror Man

Exploring imperfection

The poems of Maya Angelou

Like “Still I Rise” are apt

“Just like moons and like the suns”

She shines her words en-wrapped

in imagery and dance, she weaves

her message deep and dark

yet sharpens diamonds on her tongue

wetting Conscience’s spark

Edgar Guest would right the wrongs

Of man by striving to supplant

all evil and the bad with good,

Man’s happiness his chant

And last but not least

I’ll quote from Bob Dylan

The king of Folk conscience

Who points out the villain

of reluctance to change ,

and rewards for the willing

He drones with his guitar

And warns with his raging

It'll soon shake your windows

For times are a-changin'

So enjoy gentle reader

I’ve chosen these rhymes

To give some examples of

Art for the Times

History is gone,

but our future concealed

Social change is the key

To society healed

The Art we produce

can provide such a trigger

promote change with an oomph

and enormous new vigor!

Womensvoice1

Still I Rise

Poem by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

The joy of life is living it, or so it seems to me;
In finding shackles on your wrists, then struggling till you're free;
In seeing wrongs and righting them, in dreaming splendid dreams,
Then toiling till the vision is as real as moving streams.
The happiest mortal on the earth is he who ends his day
By leaving better than he found to bloom along the way.
Were all things perfect here there would be naught for man to do;
If what is old were good enough we'd never need the new.
The only happy time of rest is that which follows strife
And sees some contribution made unto the joy of life.
And he who has oppression felt and conquered it is he
Who really knows the happiness and peace of being free.
The miseries of earth are here and with them all must cope.
Who seeks for joy, through hedges thick of care and pain must grope.
Through disappointment man must go to value pleasure's thrill;
To really know the joy of health a man must first be ill.
The wrongs are here for man to right, and happiness is had
By striving to supplant with good the evil and the bad.
The joy of life is living it and doing things of worth,
In making bright and fruitful all the barren spots of earth.
In facing odds and mastering them and rising from defeat,
And making true what once was false, and what was bitter, sweet.
For only he knows perfect joy whose little bit of soil
Is richer ground than what it was when he began to toil.

Edgar Albert Guest

I'm Starting With The Man In
The Mirror
I'm Asking Him To Change
His Ways
And No Message Could Have
Been Any Clearer
If You Wanna Make The World
A Better Place
Take A Look At Yourself, And
Then Make A Change
(Take A Look At Yourself, And
Then Make A Change)

I've Been A Victim Of A Selfish
Kind Of Love
It's Time That I Realize
That There Are Some With No
Home, Not A Nickel To Loan
Could It Be Really Me,
Pretending That They're Not
Alone?

A Widow Deeply Scarred,
Somebody's Broken Heart
And A Washed-Out Dream
They Follow The Pattern Of
The Wind, Ya' See
Cause They Got No Place
To Be
That's Why I'm Starting With
Me
(Starting With Me!)

I'm Starting With The Man In
The Mirror
I'm Asking Him To Change
His Ways
And No Message Could Have
Been Any Clearer
If You Wanna Make The World
A Better Place
(If You Wanna Make The
World A Better Place)
Take A Look At Yourself And
Then Make A Change

Excerpt from Man in the Mirror
Michael Jackson

Gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown

And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you
Is worth savin'

Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'

Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
Keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again

Don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who
That it's namin'

For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they, they are a-changin'

Come senators, Congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand at the doorway
Don't block up the hall

For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside
And it's ragin'

It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
Don't criticize
What you can't understand

Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin'

Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For your times they are a-changin'

The line it is drawn
And the curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast

As the present now
Will later be past
The order is
Rapidly fadin'

And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'

Bob Dylan

Have a great weekend!
Womensvoice1

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To her fair works did Nature link, the human soul that through me ran Happy Easter! from #Womensvoice1/blog

4/4/2015

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At Easter time I always start to feel a little homesick. I miss the spring light in Cornwall, glowing on the rolling hills and illuminating the new fresh green leaves ; the sounds of the Thrush and the Larks, as the Sparrows provide chorus in the hedgerows. As young children, we used to don our wellies, and hop over Stiles to comb the hedgerows for Primroses. We would return home with baskets of pure Cornish cream, with little yellow centers and a delicate perfume. We would proudly pilgrimage to church on Easter Sunday, and present our bouquets to the Vicar, who would lovingly place them in the metal cross, laced with chicken wire, which would be hoisted up into the eaves of the church for the Easter service; evidence of our bounty, and symbolic of the occasion.

I miss the cool breeze that gently reminds you that it is not yet summer, despite the bright sunshine, and brings with it the salty smell of the sea.

Yet today, in Texas, the sun is bright, the air is cool, and the light is perfect. It is as if my wish has come true. It is Easter, and although we have no wild primroses here, the Grape hyacinth is up in armies, and the hedgerows are full of honeysuckle and Nandina, with bees buzzing busily between the blooms. Cardinals are calling their lyrical song, and a lone Dove is cooing mournfully , muffled by the Jay’s sharp cry, bidding for nesting space in the big Oak tree above.

I rescued a young fledgling sparrow from the fireplace chimney, and coaxed it outside towards the light. The cat watched intently through the window where he had been banished for the duration of the task.The sparrow flew out with a fanfare flutter , and was welcomed by the warbling of some sweet bird yet to be identified. The air is thick with Oak tree pollen and the heady smell is intoxicating.

Then as the sounds of a Police car in the distance, and an industrial siren pierced through the hypnotic perfume, I was reminded of the poem written by William Wordsworth, “ Lines Written in Early Spring “, when he laments what man has made of man. Wordsworth often celebrated the joys of nature, and believed that nature held powerful lessons for mankind. But even in the early 19th century, he felt that connection withering, due to the industrial revolution and the impact on our lives.

I heard a thousand blended notes,

While in a grove I sate reclined,

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts

Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link

The human soul that through me ran;

And much it grieved my heart to think

What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,

The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;

And 'tis my faith that every flower

Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,

Their thoughts I cannot measure:--

But the least motion which they made

It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,

To catch the breezy air;

And I must think, do all I can,

That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,

If such be Nature's holy plan,

Have I not reason to lament

What man has made of man?

The Native Americans have an essential connection to nature. Their culture, their spirituality, no matter what tribe, believe that we learn everything from listening and paying attention to nature.

Here is an anonymous Native American poem illustrating that fact most eloquently.

"Stand still. The trees ahead and the bushes beside you are not lost.

Wherever you are is called here,

and you must treat it as a powerful stranger,

must ask permission to know it and be known."

"The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,

I have made this place around you.

If you leave it, you may come back again saying, 'here.'

No two trees are the same to Raven.

No two branches are the same to Wren.

If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you, you are surely lost.

Stand still.

The forest knows where you are.

You must let it find you.

Easter symbolizes spring and rebirth and that is reflected in the abundance of budding flowers and and the busying of Nature around us.

It is my fervent hope that Nature will teach us how to live in peace and harmony one fair day.

I have included a few of my photographs taken here in Texas, to illustrate this week's blog post, and give you a taste of Spring, no matter where you are in the world.

Happy Easter to you all!

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A free woman's voice opens as a flower to the sun.

Life Is like flying a kite, you hold on but you cannot control.

Better Late than never!#Rule Britannia!

#For the times they are a-change'in

To her fair works did Nature link, the human soul that through me ran Happy Easter! from #Womensvoice1/blog

Susan Golden

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